


I Stand and I Wait (For the Touch of Your Hand)

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 1946 Oahu, Angst, Community: 1_million_words, Lost Love, M/M, McDanno AU, Pining, Post-World War II, Slow Burn, WWII AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s January, 1946 and US Navy Commander Steven McGarrett is finally home – barely recovered from an attack that wounded his body, damaged his ship, and destroyed his dreams for his future. He thinks he knows what he’s coming home to and the challenges he’ll face – until fate deals him another painful loss. And the Ohana he forms, to keep from sinking? They’re each facing struggles of their own in post-war Oahu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Stand and I Wait (For the Touch of Your Hand)

“Home, sweet home, ‘eh commander?” 

Steve nodded, his gaze fixed on the island beginning to come into view on the black horizon. It took a few more seconds to realize it was Doctor Jennings walking the deck behind him, asking it.

“Hell, yeah. It _is_ sweet…” He gave another, more aware nod as Jennings clapped a hand to Steve's shoulder. “It’s almost sun-up; we’ll see the harbor soon.”

“Enjoy that,” Jennings said. "You surely earned it.”

Steve heard him whistling 'Lili Marlene' as he headed downstairs to the sick bay, and guessed Jennings had someone in the Territory of Hawaii awaiting his return. 

Then he had only the ocean, the drone of the engines, and the salt breeze for company.

Steve’s hip and back were beyond sore from standing; a throbbing pain running down his left leg so hard he had to take long breaths to tolerate it. But he was dead set on staying here. Only a few months ago, he’d thought he’d never see home again.

“You would have been so happy right now,” he murmured. “God… why aren’t we coming home together?”

~*~

"I expected you to arrive in a car of your own with your things in tow. Kind of a shock to see you walk up to the door empty handed that way.”

John McGarrett handed his son a glass of iced tea as he said it. 

Steve heard ice clinking as his father walked around to sit next to him on the glider, and the sound was like a small miracle. Ice and sweet tea, after months at sea and weeks flat out in a medical unit with his body drugged to the point of hallucinating. 

Even now, sitting on their lanai, the pain meds had him dry and queasy.

"Thank you,” Steve downed most of it in three long gulps, not caring about the look from his dad at his manners or the stinging pain in his forehead from the cold liquid going down fast. “One of the other officers has family a few blocks over. He gave me a ride here...."

"From where?"

"Base housing. They built a lot during the war. I've taken a small place of my own, dad."

"But this is your home," John looked confused. "Why the hell would you live in thrown up, jerry-rigged quarters when...."

Steve started to open his mouth to correct him, then he shut it again.

This hadn't been his home for half his life, now - not since the day his mother went to the store for groceries and disappeared. After that, his existence here was nothing but rules, routine, and a dour cloud overhead. Followed by military school, which was, in the end, a great relief.

"How is Mary?" Steve asked.

"She's well. Sounds like she’s a handful for Deb, with all the men arriving back in California from the Pacific Front. She's.... I don't know. Boy crazy isn't strong enough. I'm afraid the correct term is one you should never use about your own daughter."

Steve flinched. The judgment in his father's voice…

"Found a job yet?"

Steve twisted the empty glass in his hands, eyes going to the floorboards.

"No, dad. I've been in bad shape," he said slowly. "I was focused on pulling through. And I'm still active duty. In a few months …when It's time to re-up or not? I'll have to see.”

"Sure. Think about it sooner than later, though," John said. "You’re not twenty anymore.”

They moved on to less weighty topics after that; John caught Steve up on local events and gave him the rundown on who had returned home and who was on their way back. 

"Maybe it’s for the best," his dad nodded eventually. "You not living here with me. You'll want to have people over. Where is that girl of yours these days?"

"Catherine isn't my...." Steve started and stopped yet again, realizing how badly that conversation could go. "She re-upped, dad. She's overseas, and will be for a while."

"It's odd how you never could get too wound up about her, even though you've dated so long. Do you suppose that's why she didn't opt to come home?"

"No. I think she likes being a medical technician, and that's why she stayed in the Navy. Hey, how about I come over this weekend and we work on the car?"

Steve knew he had hope of changing the topic, if his dad's 1924 Phaeton was the focus. 

"That bag of bolts? Sure....." his dad's tone was dismissive but fond. "It's a lost cause, I think, but …sure, son. Why not? Let's do that."  
"Great," Steve pushed himself up from the chair hard with both hands, hoping his back and his suffering joints wouldn't embarrass him by making him have to sit back down. "I'll come by.”

"Steven...." John hadn't missed the struggle it was, him standing up. "I'm grateful you're well. And home. Not crippled by what you went through."

'Not a burden' Steve heard in his father's voice. But maybe he was over thinking that.

"Me too, dad."

Steve walked back to his friends' place in search of a ride to the base and some desperately needed rest. If it dawned on John to offer him a way there, it never motivated him enough to actually get back up and follow Steve out. 

He chided himself for hoping John might. And then he was relieved he hadn't. 

 

~*~

The dance hall wasn’t much more than a humble shack - plywood and a fist full of nails. But the owners dressed it up inside until you could almost call it beautiful; paper lanterns and framed pictures, war bond posters, mirrors in various shapes and sizes everywhere. There were lacquered bowls on each table with fresh blossoms floating in them. 

“Moonlight _Frigging_ Serenade,” Steve muttered, slowly navigating the packed aisle along the dance floor as he made his way slowly to the bar. “God, I hate this song.”

He didn’t, though. Not really. It was more the sight of couples moving toward each other in the cigarette-smoke haze, chins going to shoulders and hands pressing against warm, damp backs while the trembling melody played that set his jaw on edge. He wondered if they took it for granted; the simple right to stand there; to touch each other, and move to the music together. 

He was pretty sure they all did. Take it for granted.

“Steve? Hey, Steve!” 

Whoever was calling him was yards away, yelling loud enough to register over the music and the buzz of conversation. 

“McGarrett, hold up! Hey, wow… it’s true. You’re home!” 

Frank Epps was threading toward Steve, ducking around tables full of people to get to him. Frank didn't look a hell of a lot different - more filled out, a sharper, more discerning light in his eyes but still the same guy Steve had surfed and pulled pranks with in high school.

“Frank … hey!”

“Damn, I’m glad to see you. We heard what happened. I'm so sorry. Also heard you were still very bad off, but I’m glad that part turned out to be bad intel."

“It's good to see you, too,” Steve let Frank pull him in and hug him hard; didn’t have to force the smile on his face. Frank was a true friend – someone who had known he and Freddie since they were in grade school, and who wouldn’t go overboard right now with either questions or accolades. “How’s Millie?”

“You can ask her yourself. She left her clutch on the car seat, she went out to get it. Come sit with us a while.”

“Thanks, but… I’m laying low. I only got home twelve hours ago, and I had to spend some time with my dad fresh off the ship, so ....”

“He still tough as rocks?”

“Rocks are like feathers next to him.”

“Figured as much. People don’t change, do they? Let’s grab lunch or dinner tomorrow.”

“Sure. I’ll meet you at Buzz’s in Lanikai for lunch. Tell Millie I’m looking forward to it.”

Steve headed for the bar before she could show up, and introduce him to everyone and their sister.

~*~

“What’s your poison, sir?” the bartender asked when he made it there, tossing Steve a brief but genuine salute. 

He reflexively looked himself over as he sat, making sure he hadn't accidentally worn his uniform. 

“Nope. It’s not your attire, brah. You walk like a boss man, even with that bad hitch in your step. Hope you don't mind me saying so; I'm known for calling things as I see ‘em.”

“No problem. I’m trying to get used to being home, though. So can you call me Steve?""

"You got it. Kamekona,…” The very large man reached out an equally large hand. “I am the owner-operator of this establishment and the bartender, too. Good to make your acquaintance.”

“What do you have for beer, Kamekona?”

“Not as much as we'll have Monday. I got a shipment of tasty suds on a boat, headed in from California. Tonight, it’s Primo Lager and Budweiser. Might have a couple of Hamm’s and Piels in the icebox, too. And there's a full liquor bar if ….”

“A Primo's fine, thanks.”

“Crappy beer and food rationing,” a voice to Steve’s left said, if he’d heard all the words right. The guy was kind of slurring. “No sugar for your cereal half the time. People flung the hell everywhere, sent to places they don’t belong. Where they’ll never belong. ‘S’a nightmare, that's what it is. A goddamn nightmare.”

“Hey," Kamekona gave the guy a warning tone of voice. “Lighten up on the gloom and doom, blondie. We’re all in this together.”

“Oh, I know,” the guy said as Kamekona delivered Steve’s drink. “See, that’s the thing. My exact point. I wasn’t bitching. Just commishh….commmmmissss….”

“Commiserating,” Steve said, before knocking back that first, perfect sip of cold beer after a long, hot day.

“Preee…cisely," the guy hiccupped his way through the word and something about the way he did it made Steve smile around the lip of his beer bottle. "C'missserating. And drowning my sorrows. I can do that, right? It’s a free country, thank God, due to a crapload of blood and sweat. And tears. A ton of tears.” 

The guy picked up his empty rock glass, pointing it toward Steve and then waggling it at the bartender.

“Speaking of sorrows, tears, and drowning them, can I get ‘nother one?”

“Maybe you should have a beer, instead. On me,” Steve said, his eyes on Kamekona with a wink that suggested someone had to keep the man from drowning in bourbon.

“Thasssss ….very kind of you. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you buying me a beer, Tex?”

“Uh, I'm not from Texas. I'm from here. But ...I think what you need is water. Beer’s close to water, compared with what you've been drinking. So if you have a beer, it might save you from sleeping on your bathroom floor.”

“Tha’s good… very good thinking,” the guy accepted the offer and slid his way, pulling his seat closer to Steve's. “…You’re smart, and you’ve got a sense of humor. Nice to meet you, I’m Danny.”

“Good to meet you, Danny,” Steve clinked bottles at his new drinking buddy’s wordless invitation. “I guess you’ve come a long way to be here?”

“How’d you know?” Danny gave him a tiny dose of deeply distrustful stink eye.

“You’re pale. And you were also sharing your concerns about the war. About people being …flung here."

“Oh, yeah. Pale. I'm haole, so I'm told. Never knew I was haole 'til I got here, but apparently that’s exactly what I am. People tell me so every day.”

There was a long pause while Danny sipped at the beer and Steve waited patiently and….

“New Jersey.”

“Ah.”

“That’s where. I’m from. Ever been?”

"No. I spent some time on the East Coast when I was in school. Annapolis."

"No kidding? Maryland's nice. Got an aunt and uncle there, haven't seen 'em in... never mind. You don't wanna hear about them. You’re clearly not a small talk kind of guy."

"I'll take all the small talk you've got," Steve said. "If we’re talking, then people who know me are less likely to come up and want to gab."

"Not feeling sociable?"

"I don't want to deal with a lot of well-intentioned questions. Ones that'll make me want to drown my sorrows until I end up sleeping on _my_ bathroom floor. Why don't you tell me why you're so sure you'll never fit in?"

"How'd you know that's how I feel?" Danny looked at him like Steve had to be some kind of strange, charmed mind reader, eyes widening, then he slammed the heel of his own hand to his forehead. "Oh, yeah, right. Venting. I was venting. Shit."

"Better drink that beer," Steve nodded at Danny's hand. "…or you'll never sober up."

"Ha. See, that's funny, too," Danny slumped slightly toward the bar, looking like he might enjoy laying his cheek on it and drifting off. "You're all right, you know that? And you have nice eyes. Thoughtful eyes. You're officially my favorite person I've ever met in this pathetic hell hole."

"Thanks," Steve took a quick sip of his own beer. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in weeks.”

~*~

“Why don’t you come i…i…in for one?” 

“No,” Steve shifted to allocate Danny’s hiccupping weight somewhat differently, trying to stay upright as he propelled them both toward Danny’s bungalow door. “The taxi won't wait long. And you’ve had enough for both of us.”

His drinking companion had, in fact, gotten drunker by the minute - which made Steve wonder exactly how many sorrows Danny was keeping at bay.

“There’s more… m…ooore than a little truth to that, McGarrett.”

Steve had learned that Danny was a cop in New Jersey before the war, determined to work his way up to detective. He was close to his goal when wartime opportunity sent him off with a security company that guarded key military facilities around the world. 

It had seemed like a chance to make fast money, get experience, then return to his normal life – except he’d met an ambassador's daughter; a girl named Rachel who, Steve took it, was the mother of Danny's daughter but no longer his wife. 

Steve guessed an encounter with Rachel is what had led Danny to get sideways drunk.

“Now I’m McGarrett to you?” Steve took the house key Danny had foggily produced from his pants pocket. “I thought we were on a first name basis?”

“We could be,” Danny fell into the overstuffed armchair Steve dropped him on once they were inside. “I could be that and more to you i...ifff you play your cards right.”

Well, that answered that.

Steve hadn't been imagining the way Danny's eyes ran up and down him more than once. It was an intriguing turn of events, but sadly not one he could take advantage of with Danny drunk as the proverbial skunk.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

“I'm not feeling anything.”

“That’s … not surprising. Is the room spinning?”

“Nah. I’m not a drunk, but I’m no amateur either. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Sir, yes _sir_ ,” Danny barked, getting up and stumbling toward the back room, a wiggle in his walk as he toed his shoes off. “Thanks for the beer and your ear. Goodbye, Steven.”

“It’s Steve,” he said, and smiled at the wetly snorted chuckle that got him.

"Goodnight, Commander Steven McG.... hey, what's your middle name?"

"Jack."

"Bon voyage,” Danny saluted him. “Commander Steven Jack McGarrett."

"Night, Danny."

Barely upright, about to face plant in bed - and Daniel Williams was being kind of a tease.

Steve let himself out and headed back to the taxi, smiling all the way - smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.

-*-

He woke slowly to the sound of pounding. At first it sounded like engine backfires on the ship, but as his brain surfaced he realized he wasn't at sea.

"Hold on," he found his trousers, jumped shakily into them and was on his way to the door all in one motion. "What the..."

There were three of them standing there- military police and someone from HPD in uniform.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

"It's about your father," one of the MPs spoke for them. "There's been an... incident at his home. Your home. Would you come with us, commander?"


End file.
